The Roleplay Series
by Baron Munchausen
Summary: These are kinky, OOC (to a greater or lesser extent), OTT stories that some FF/Tumblr personalities have persuaded me to share. They are a bit like role-play so I'm calling them the Roleplay Series.
1. The Interrogation

_**This is one of the stories that I spoke about on Tumblr recently. You know, crack, OOC, kinky, and totally self-indulgent. But several of you wanted me to finish it and post it, so I have. You have been warned.**_

_**Dedicated to Queen Lovett.**_

* * *

_**Set during the War. While on operations, Sir Anthony is taken prisoner, and meets the last person he thought he would see behind enemy lines.**_

* * *

_._

It was at that moment, that terrible moment of confusion and slaughter, that Anthony knew that the raid had gone horribly wrong. Everything had been progressing to plan until then. The raiding party had been in two halves, Anthony commanding the group that was going to kidnap the German officers from their dugout for interrogation; Captain Greville in charge of the unit that would provide cover. But they were spotted before they even approached the German lines. Greville was shot and killed, his men, their sense of direction blurred by the gunsmoke and darkness, charged way off to one side, and his own men were now being engaged hand to hand by the enemy. Anthony made the decision to abort the sortie and blew his whistle. No doubt it saved some of the men's lives, but it alerted the Germans to who was in charge. He was tackled to the ground by two men, sure they had caught a prize when they were close enough to see his Major's uniform. Anthony fought back as hard as he could, straining to reach the pistol that had been knocked from his hand. Then Fritz delivered a shuddering blow to his head, and everything went dark.

* * *

_._

When Anthony woke, he was sat uncomfortably on a chair with his hands tied behind the back. He couldn't move. A door opened behind him.

"Good afternoon, Herr Major. I see you have awoken." The voice was authoritative and spoke in German. Anthony couldn't see the man, who was standing directly behind him.

"Where am I?" asked Anthony, also in German.

"That is of no interest to you now. All I will say is that you have one chance, and one chance only, of getting back to your own army alive. Here is my offer, Herr Major: you will tell me what you know of the battle plans for the offensive next week, and I will ensure you return to your battalion…relatively unharmed. If you do not…" The threat was left hanging in the air.

"You cannot really believe I would tell you anything, even if I knew it." Anthony played for time.

"Oh, but I know that you will."

"I am afraid you will be sorely disappointed, Herr…?"

"Again, who I am is none of your concern. You would really prefer to lose your life than tell me where and when the attack will come?" The officer seemed remarkably casual in his interrogation methods, Anthony thought. There must be more to it than this.

"I would" Anthony answered simply.

The questioning continued in this manner for perhaps twenty minutes before the German gave up.

"You have exhausted my patience, Sir Anthony. There is little I can do now."

Anthony wasn't afraid to die, but he was emotional and his thoughts were full of Edith.

"Will you allow me to write one letter before you pass sentence?"

"I'm not going to pass any sentence on you, Herr Major. I am going to pass you over to another officer. She will now question you and then decide on your fate."

_She__?_ Anthony was horrified.

"You force _women_ to serve in your army? That's despicable!"

"Oh, no one forced me to do anything, Anthony. I volunteered."

The voice, speaking in English, was the last one he expected to hear in that hell. He heard footsteps approaching him from the doorway. The figure walked past, placed some objects on the table, and then turned to face him. Edith.

She was not in uniform; instead she was wearing a long silk skirt and matching buttoned blouse. Her hair was dressed with curls piled around her head. She might have been just dropping by for tea.

Anthony just stared at her. It was all he could do. That Edith had volunteered to interrogate English officers…for the Germans…that she would betray her country like this…it was unthinkable.

"No, you are not dreaming, Anthony. I am truly here. Now you really must tell me what the Colonel wants to know, or I will be forced to…make things uncomfortable for you" she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Edith…" Anthony breathed, his heart breaking.

"Tell me what you know of the upcoming offensive."

"I will not put my comrades in danger" he answered.

"Tell me, or…" She drew a riding crop from the table behind her.

"I…I can't." His eyes grew wide, and he tensed as she played with the end of the crop under his chin.

With a swift movement she whipped his thigh. The pain was deadened by his uniform, but it still stung. And…there was more to it, he realised: much more to this torture than just pain.

"When will the offensive begin?" she asked again.

"I cannot tell you." His voice was beginning to break as he felt himself wanting her to crop him, despite himself. She was still everything he had loved before the war began: beautiful and charming, but like this she was also dangerous, and erotic, and marvellous.

Edith sensed the change in his emotions. She stood before him and slowly undid the single button at the top of her skirt. It fell to the floor with a rustle to reveal her stockings and suspenders. Now, Anthony knew why the Germans left interrogations to her. This was far, far worse than being injured or threatened with death. He _wanted_ to please her. He wanted her to continue cropping him and teasing him and he wanted to tell her everything he knew about the attack planned for the next week. He wasn't sure how long he could hold out. She whipped him again and again, and he felt his desire for her coursing through his veins. This was so much more intimate and arousing than anything that had ever occurred between them before. Edith leant over his body, her face not three inches away from his. He could have reached up and kissed her.

"Now, tell me how you are feeling, Major Sir Anthony Strallan. I want to know." Her voice was slightly amused, and completely seductive.

"I want…"

"What do you want, Anthony? Tell me" she purred.

"I want you."

"You can have me, if you let me know a few things about the battle plans."

"You're lying!" he said with venom, recovering himself. "Just like you lied to me in 1914!"

"What?"

It all came back, hitting him with such force, everything that he'd held in check since that fateful afternoon in the gardens at Downton: all his shame, and sadness, and heartache.

"You led me on! You toyed with me, let me believe that you cared for me, even if it was just a little, that you would let me care for you, all the while ridiculing me to your sisters behind my back! You broke my heart! Well, you've got what you wanted: here is the ghastly old bore who almost proposed to you, and like the great booby he is, he's at your mercy. So just get on with it!"

Despite himself, he felt a tear escape and roll down his cheek as he turned his head from her.

"Is that why you left? Who told you…oh." There could only be one person who would invent a story so vile, and be so vindictive as to tell it to Anthony. "It was Mary, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

Edith continued looking at Anthony, but her expression had changed, as though she didn't consider this to be a game any more.

"Just so you know, Mary and I were locked in a battle of wills around that time, each trying to ruin the other in a petty squabble. It would seem now that Mary won simply because, while I only told the truth, she was willing to slander me."

"How can I be sure you're telling the truth now?" Anthony asked, still looking away from her.

"I suppose you can't. You can think of how we had been together before that day, how much I had been looking forward to your proposal…which I would have accepted without hesitation. It would have made me supremely happy."

Anthony glanced at her, and was surprised to see her eyes were wet as well.

"And yet here you are working for the enemy of our homeland. That is hardly a mark in favour of your faithfulness."

The German Colonel spoke to Edith. "What is it? What are you talking about that's getting him so emotional?"

"The Major and I…we were almost engaged to be married…before the War began" she replied, reining in her own feelings as she spoke.

"Ah. Good. Use it to your advantage."

"I intend to." Edith's feigned amusement with the situation had returned, a hint of a smile playing over her lips.

"They will kill you if you do not tell them what they want to know, Anthony" she murmured quietly.

"I would prefer to face a firing squad than betray my country" he repeated with a proud little toss of the head.

"Oh they will not put you in front of a firing squad, Anthony. They will leave it to me." She indicated the table from which she had retrieved the crop. On it lay a revolver.

"That makes the decision easier still" he said, "since if I have to die, I would prefer it to be by your hand than by any other person."

At his words her expression changed, and this time, he saw it.

"May I make a final request?"

"Of course" she whispered. She expected him to ask for something like 'make it quick' or 'as painless as you can, if you have any mercy left'.

"Kiss me. Please. Kiss me, Edith." The simple words belied the deep pleading in his quiet voice, breaking slightly with emotion. It shocked her further still.

"Even though I am a traitor to my country, and, for all you know, I might have sent hundreds of men to their deaths, you still…have feelings for me?"

"Always. You are my weakness, Edith. You always were."

They regarded each other anxiously.

"Before the War when we were courting, I never kissed you. I wish I had. Before you shoot me, please…just one kiss?"

She looked up at the Colonel behind him, and nodded. Anthony tensed, wondering if, despite everything, Edith was about to kill him. But his fears were groundless; the Colonel rose from his seat, and retreated from the room.

Slowly she leaned forward to him. They gazed into each other's eyes for a long moment. Her eyes trailed down to his lips. He saw it and suddenly he couldn't breathe. She placed her hand lightly on his chest then moved it to the back of his head as she sought his mouth. They kissed gently and incredulously to begin with, but with each passing second the caress become more and more passionate. She wrapped his shoulders in her arms and lent to him. His tongue stole a taste of her lips, and she opened her mouth to him eagerly causing him to lose even more control. He was completely lost when she breathed his name between kisses in a voice he'd never dared hope he might hear from her except in his dreams; it was husky and demanding. She pulled his head to her bared neck and he devoured her hungrily. Stopping herself from thinking about what she was doing, she leaned back and undid the buttons of her blouse, slowly, teasingly. All Anthony could do was watch as she tortured him with her striptease, finding breathing difficult. When she slipped the garment off her shoulders and bared herself to him in just her silken corset, he moaned.

"Edith…oh _god_!"

"If you tell me just one little detail, I can ask for your hands to be untied and you can hold me properly."

Anthony pulled back, still panting with desire but immediately sobered.

"I can't do it, Edith. You know I can't. I love you, but I cannot do this."

"Really?"

"Really" he replied with finality, knowing he'd just signed his own death warrant.

"Good." She looked at him, at his expression of shock and confusion. Then she leaned over to him again, seeking his ear. He was a dead man, he knew. Why not enjoy whatever affection she might show him while trying to winkle information out of him? But what he heard next was the last thing he could've guessed about this situation.

"Anthony, listen to me very closely, and don't register any emotion on your face. We are still being watched, as I'm sure you know, and we may not have much time" she whispered into his ear as though still trying to seduce him.

"I couldn't bear that you'd gone to war without a word, without proposing to me or leaving any explanation. I had to find a way to come here to try to find you. At one of Aunt Rosamund's dinner parties I met a man called Sir Basil Thomson. He had been working with Special Branch to uncover German spies in Britain. He put me in touch with British Military Intelligence, _our_ Military Intelligence, and they placed me here."

"I know Baz!" Anthony felt his throat constrict but tried not to show too much reaction, as Edith had instructed. She was telling the truth!

"What I do is, well, what I've done for you, then I ask my officers to give me one piece of trivial true information that won't hurt anyone which I can give to the Germans to convince them to believe in this whole charade. Then I tell them what the British brass want the Germans to believe. I promise you, Anthony, I haven't betrayed my country. I am serving in the best way I am able. I'm planting misinformation all over the Western Front. And looking for you."

She drew away from him just enough to look into his eyes, their noses almost touching. With immense relief, she saw admiration and belief in his eyes.

"You do have such beautiful eyes, Anthony. I couldn't bear it if I ever saw hatred or disappointment for me in them."

"Never! You are braver than many of the men I know back in the trenches. Braver than me. I love you, Edith. I love you so very much."

She leaned to him once more, embracing him fiercely, as he kissed her with even more passion and desire than ever. She brought one hand up to his cheek, the other arm laid around his neck and shoulders. Anthony trailed his kisses down her neck to her scantily covered breasts, caressing them tenderly with barely controlled ardour. Edith allowed her hands to rub their way down his chest to the rim of his trousers.

"Tell me one thing, Anthony, one thing, and then I'll get you out of here."

"The first offensive will take place on Wednesday next, beginning at 5am." As soon as he had said it, he felt cold, worrying whether he had been taken in again. But he was immediately calmed by Edith.

"I think we'll tell them Thursday, don't you? Give them a little surprise." She teased the material of his trousers, looking up at him with a dark playfulness.

"Why do some men find crops and whips so…exciting?"

"I don't know" Anthony sighed, raising his head to try to retain his dignity. "I never knew I was one of them until now."

"I've never found uniforms…alluring…until now. You look incredible, Anthony! Utterly irresistible!"

"Rather the worse for wear, I'm afraid."

"Still gorgeous though. God, what would you look like in dress uniform!?" She was obviously aroused herself, which only added more heat to his own fires.

"Perhaps it has to be the right combination of special clothing and special person?" Anthony mused, still fascinated by her silk corset and suspenders. She saw his eyes raking over her thighs and responded by raising her leg slowly over him and seating herself in his lap.

"You are in no fit state to make a jail-break, Anthony. Let's see what we can do about that, shall we?"

"You can't mean…Edith…_god, Edith_…_no!_"

Suddenly she was once again the young girl he had courted in Yorkshire, with a sad, hurt expression on her face at the presumed rejection.

"That's not what I meant! I want you, Edith…god, how I want you…but I cannot allow you to risk…"

Edith's features softened. He was such a gentleman, even in this hell of broken honour and mud. She leaned to him again.

"My darling, I have always wanted to give you my maidenhood."

"_Edith!_"

"And I too would prefer it to be in a nice, warm, soft, clean bed, and within wedlock. No, I was thinking of providing you with relief another way."

It was all too much. She called him her darling; she talked as though marriage was still an option…no, more than that, a _probability_. And she was snaking her hand down to the buttons of his trousers.

Edith found him straining for her. She freed him, took him in hand, and began to stroke, slowly but firmly. Anthony's head lolled backwards as he finally lost all control of his emotions. Her fingers were so delicate and yet so commanding. This was the stuff of fantasies and it was all happening for Anthony for the first time. His marriage had not been exactly passionate; he'd never been with any other woman. But he'd dreamt of Edith doing exactly what she was doing now, and all sorts of other things, ever since that night when he'd invited her to the concert in York and despite every rational thought that he'd had running through his head that she wouldn't want to go with him, she had not only accepted, she'd seemed breathlessly excited by the prospect. The memory of her heaving breasts had both comforted and tortured him ever since. He somehow managed to open his eyes and look at her through the haze of bliss and love. She whispered "I love you, Anthony" then she slid off his lap.

He had just let a moan of disappointment escape him when he realised what she was going to do. He thought that he had indeed died and gone to heaven when she adjusted her hands around his jewels and took his manhood in her mouth. She whirled and flicked her tongue around him, gently sucking and humming, causing him to become wholly insensible, driving him mad with desire and pleasure until, too soon for him, he could contain himself no more and he exploded with her name on his lips.

He had hardly had a moment to gather himself when Edith was once more whispering into his ear.

"I have a plan to get you out of here, rather than taken to the POW camp, because I fear they will not let you live. I want you to whisper to me as though you are telling me more details. When you've finished I am going to pretend to execute you. Three shots in total: react to them as violently as you can. The pistol is loaded with blanks. Afterwards I will insist you are buried decently and taken to the undertakers in the town, a few miles behind these lines. The undertaker is my contact and will be able to get you back to England."

Anthony nodded, once more in control of himself. He began talking.

"Edith, I want you to know that I did intend to propose to you that day. When Mary…told me all those things, my heart broke. I couldn't bear to stay and ask you about it because…well, I suppose I was scared that they might turn out to be true. I'm sorry I didn't trust you. I'm sorry I didn't give you a chance to tell me your side of the story. I assure you it was only because I doubted myself…too much. I love you, my dearest darling."

Edith had gone to the table to write down the planted information that she had memorised as if taking it from Anthony's dictation. Then she picked up the pistol, and returned to Anthony, saying nothing. She stole a long, sweet kiss from him then took a step backward, raising the gun. _Even if this has all been a con and she really is about to kill me_, he thought, _it was worth it. I will die happy_.

At the first shot, Anthony jerked his body, his lips parted as if in pain and surprise at Edith's treachery. He threw himself back against his bonds and grimaced at the second, and at the third slumped forwards, as though dead. He'd acted so well, that Edith was filled with panic that the pistol had somehow been switched. She approached him as if to check he was dead and to close his eyes, fear clutching at her heart.

"Anthony? Hum at me if you're alright?"

_Mmmm._

"Oh, thank god for that" she sighed with relief. "You scared me. Now, don't worry, I'm just splashing some red ink on your chest."

The door opened and the Colonel re-entered.

"Was that actually necessary?"

"I couldn't let him have the opportunity to get word back to the English. He knows…knew me too well."

"Well, if you think so. I assume he talked."

"Oh yes" she said sadly, "he talked. Here are the details of next week's attack. Use them wisely. I have paid a heavy price for them."

"Really?"

"I should have married him." She looked at Anthony with an expression the Colonel had never seen on her before.

"I want him buried properly by Grüber, in consecrated ground. He deserves that. And don't worry, I will pay for it."

"As you wish. You have earned any favours you might ask for today."

"May I stay here with him until Grüber arrives? Please?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Your job is done."

The Colonel left and Edith ran her hand through Anthony's blond hair.

"You can't be very comfortable like that. Would it be better to have your hands untied?"

_Mmm_.

She took a knife from the table behind her and cut through the rope, steadying Anthony's body as she did so, meaning his head slumped onto her chest.

"How's that?"

_Mmmmmm_.

Edith stifled a smile.

* * *

_._

When Grüber arrived an hour later, he and his assistant placed Anthony in a coffin and loaded him into a hearse.

"Would you like to accompany us back to discuss arrangements, Fraülein?"

"Yes, we'd better get it over and done with."

They didn't speak again until they were inside Grüber's garage attached to his premises.

"Your gentleman is not of a nervous disposition, I hope? He will not be…how you say…_spooked_ by being carried away in a coffin?"

"I hope not" Edith replied, quickly getting out of the vehicle.

Grüber and his man released Anthony who sat up without delay.

"I feel like Count Dracula" he muttered to no one in particular.

"Anthony! Are you…?" Edith's concerned words were cut up by Anthony catching her in his arms and kissing her fervently.

"I owe you my life, my sweet."

"Me and Herr Grüber."

Anthony turned and shook the older man's hand.

"Yes, thank you Sir. You have taken a great risk for me today."

"Don't worry about it" Grüber drawled "I've taken greater ones for her."

"And you can get him back to England?" Edith asked.

"Yes, you and him both." It was said very definitely.

"But…" Edith began.

"No argument, my lady. I saw the looks that were being passed between the officers in there. Something changed today. Somebody saw something. Doubts have been raised. I will not risk it. You go home together. I will wire London. You will start as soon as I can gather the papers."

"But…" Edith began again, this time being cut off by Anthony.

"No. You will come home with me. You said yourself you came here to find me, and you have. Now we can both go home...and marry."

Edith tried to speak again, but Anthony kissed her. And kissed her. And kissed her.


	2. Fallen

_**I apologise for the length of this one. This one is not quite so crack, but I've put in it this series because of the setting, even if I've romanticised it beyond belief. Don't hate me to putting Edith in this situation: it all turns out well in the end!**_

_**Dedicated to Lady Eleanor C.**_

_**TRIGGER WARNING: set in a brothel, with description of the circumstances that force women to work in them.**_

* * *

_**Period, canon, sometime after 4.4.  
**_

* * *

_._

The street corner was cold. Edith didn't particularly pay it any attention, only at a forced and equally cool, detached distance from her feelings. At least it meant that when – if – she attracted any custom she would be less likely to feel anything.

She frowned. A cold body might put the gentleman – no, _man_ – off and he might refuse to pay. That thought worried her, so she tried to keep warm by stamping her feet when no one was looking. Several men had looked at her in a strange way, but they had continued walking. Was she doing something wrong? Perhaps she wasn't looking at them with the correct, accepted expression. Edith had no idea what that expression might be. She hadn't said anything; was she meant to? And if so, what? In fact, she didn't know what she was doing at all.

* * *

.

Six months – it felt like centuries – previously she had agreed to become Michael's mistress. She'd also expected to become his wife soon enough. He had got his German citizenship and his divorce was going through.

Then her father found out; a photograph in _The Sketch_ of her with Michael had left no one in any doubt as to the nature of their relationship, and she had been disinherited and cast off, told never to contact the family or use the Crawley name ever again. She had fallen too far; she had renounced it.

That would have been hurtful enough, but troubles come not single spies. Michael's wife, Lizzie, had recovered. Although he was torn, Michael eventually had chosen to stand by his existing wife. He'd asked Edith to leave his house and his life, apologetically at first then increasingly insistently so as to prepare for Lizzie's homecoming.

Edith had found herself standing outside of Aunt Rosamund's house with two cases containing all she owned in the world. The butler had not looked her in the eye as he informed her that Lady Painswick had no niece of the name of Edith, shutting the door with finality.

That had been a fortnight ago. She'd got a bed at one of the missions for a night or so, but they didn't let you stay long. Food was difficult to find with no money; all she had been able to take from Michael's flat had gone within the first two days. What the soup kitchens in the East End doled out was really no more than a bitter, thin stock.

At last, in cowed, frightened desperation and hopelessness, she'd been forced to face the fact that, like millions of women wronged by men before her, there was now only one way she could earn enough money to feed, clothe, and house herself: to continue being wronged by men.

* * *

.

"This patch is taken, love, so hop it, there's a good girl."

Edith pulled her thoughts back to the dingy present and the girl in the lace-trimmed dress standing before her.

"I'm sorry" she stammered, confused.

"This is our patch" stated the girl's companion, in the sort of voice one reserved for dim children "and the men round here are our customers. We don't want any nastiness. Just move on, all right?"

"Where do you usually work, love?" asked the first girl, more kindly.

"Er…" Edith murmured, not quick enough to think of a believable lie.

"This is your first time, isn't it?" asked the second girl.

Edith didn't answer but she didn't have to. Her tears said it all.

The two courtesans looked at each other, judging their next move.

"Look, love, take a tip from a girl what knows. You don't want to ply the trade out in the open. It's dangerous and you can't charge as much. Susie and me, we work at Madam LeCoq's. Would you like us to take you there and introduce you?"

Edith still looked like a hunted animal, much as Susie imagined she herself had looked on _her _first night.

"It's warm, we could give you a cuppa and a sandwich, talk it over, like. And if you don't want to join, you can just walk away. No one'll stop you."

That was enough for Edith. It couldn't be worse than standing here, trying to advertise her body to anyone willing to pay for it.

* * *

.

It _was_ warm at Madam LeCoq's. Sitting in front of the fire in the parlour at the perfectly ordinary townhouse (at least from the outside) was the warmest Edith had been for two weeks. The tea was so hot and she'd forgotten how good something so simple could taste. The ham sandwich was so delicious Edith almost wept.

"Are you feeling a bit better, dearie?" asked Madam LeCoq herself, sat in the armchair opposite Edith and looking at her with an expression of both maternal concern, and a businesswoman's calculation.

"Very much better, thank you…" Edith hesitated.

"Oh, just call me 'Mother'. All the girls do. That is…if you're still interested to hear about the terms here?"

"Would…would you accept me?" Edith was surprised. Madam LeCoq had made up her mind already, so quickly and without really asking her any questions.

"Oh yes, dearie. You'd be a good investment, I'm sure. Your skin is good, your eyes are clear and expressive. Any special skills? No, I didn't think so, not yet. Well, there's time and if you're willing to learn…"

Edith must have looked alarmed because Mother touched her hand gently.

"Don't worry dearie, that sort of thing isn't necessary. But it does give you a bit of variety, and higher rates. What do you want to know from me?"

Edith was almost drowning, and she knew the woman opposite her was her only lifeline. She was lucky to have fallen in with Madam LeCoq and her girls rather than anything worse.

"Where will I live?"

"You can stay here if you like. Some of the girls do. Some of them have their own places and come here to work."

Mother didn't waste words when she talked business. She waited patiently for Edith to form another question from all her scattered feelings.

"What…when do I…how am I paid?"

"The gentleman pays me when he arrives. That stops them doing a runner. I set your rate depending on the market which I know, dearie, and you don't. I take twenty five per cent to cover the house and suchlike, you have the rest, cash, after the last gentleman has gone."

"If I don't like a gentleman?"

"Ah" Mother sighed and her face softened with understanding and regret at the girl's innocence, "that's the unfortunate bit of being a professional, dearie. You just have to get on with it. But there are tricks that me and the girls can teach you to make it bearable."

She watched Edith in silence again for a while.

"Anything else?" Edith shook her head, unsurely.

"I don't think you're in a fit state to start tonight. I'll take you up to your room: Jenny's just left, so you can have hers. Can you make beds, dearie? No, I didn't think so."

If Mother wondered how a woman so obviously high-born and coddled as Edith came to be on the streets, she didn't ask, not then, not ever. Everyone was entitled to their secrets.

* * *

.

The next night, with a couple of good meals inside her, scrubbed and with her hair done and wearing new, tight-fitting undergarments and loose-fitting, very frilly overclothes, Edith waited in her room for her first gentleman. She fidgeted with nerves. She had a new professional name: The Lady. All the girls had professional names. Susie was Angel, because of her very fair hair. The girls all thought The Lady fitted Edith because of her manners. _Little did they know_, Edith thought to herself. Mother met the gentlemen and discussed their requirements with them, took their payment, and then matched them up with the girl nearest to what they wanted, sending them up to their room. The first Edith would know about her first gentleman was when he entered through that door.

She suddenly didn't want to be looked at. She knew she had to go through with what was to come, but things would be easier if there weren't so much light. She turned down the two oil lamps and rummaged about in the dressing-up box that each girl was given. Once she had a veil on, in the dark, she felt she could get through tonight. How she would feel in the morning…well, she'd deal with that then.

* * *

.

Madam LeCoq opened the front door and ushered the three gentlemen through to her parlour. She could smell the brandy, but that was fairly usual. The sort of gentlemen who patronised her establishment were not the sort of men who did this because they really wanted to. They did it because they had no choice, were lonely, or their wives had ceased to be interested. The girls said that sometimes they just wanted to talk to someone who listened, who would be affectionate to them. Yes, there were some who came regularly, indulged their carnal appetites, and left, but none of her gentlemen were not _gentlemen_. If they turned out _not to be gentlemen_ they didn't return. Mother employed a lad whose name was Stanley, but whom everyone called 'Knuckles', who was slow and had more muscles than brains. Out in the world he would have been lost, but here he had his niche. He loved Mother and was fiercely protective of her and the girls. Gentlemen who turned out _not to be gentlemen_ were taken care of by Knuckles and taught the error of their ways.

But these three. They certainly were gentlemen, she could see that. One older gentleman and two younger bucks, they were all dressed in white tie and opera hats which they had removed when she answered their knock.

"Madam, I wonder if you have any young lady who could assist my uncle?" asked one of the younger men.

"I'm sure I have, sir."

"His…his heart's been broken, see? Needs mending, see?" said the other young man, very much the worse for drink than the first.

"And for your two gentlemen…?" asked Mother.

"Well, while we're here, I suppose we could…have the company of a couple of saucy wenches of our own, eh, Henry?"

The two boys laughed, and the older man tried to object.

"Uncle, you need something to take your mind off it. This'll be just the thing, trust me."

"I have a very nice new young lady whom I think will be able to give you relief from your heartache, sir."

So it was settled. The more sober of the young men paid and all three were taken upstairs, the young men would go to rooms of more experienced young ladies; the older gentleman to Edith's room.

* * *

.

There was a knock at the door. Edith hadn't expected that. These men paid to take, didn't they? They didn't stand on niceties.

The door opened a shade and a male voice called out "Hello?" and Edith answered as loud as she could through her dry throat.

Another surprise: there was a second man's voice. How many men was she supposed to 'entertain' at once? Her fear spiralled as the door opened fully and _three_ men in opera capes milled around.

"It'll do you the power of good, Uncle. Just have fun!"

"We'll all meet up in the parlour afterwards. Relax and enjoy it, Uncle!"

With that the two shorter, younger men left to find their own ladies and the taller man stood awkwardly in the doorway, until Edith stepped behind him and shut the door. The man continued blinking in the gloom, fidgeting with his opera hat.

"I…I apologise, madam…I don't think I really can…my nephews…after all those nightcaps they poured down my throat…they almost bullied me…they mean well, but…" His voice was hesitant and strangled, swaddled in brandy and uncertainty, but it was still very familiar.

"Please, sir, sit. Tell me why your nephews brought you here." She was aware that her own voice was almost squeezed to a squeak with tension. If she could talk to him Edith thought she might get them both to settle and recover some of their composure. Also, it occurred to her that he might run out of time to do anything else.

"Thank you" he muttered, continuing to stand. Edith realised he was waiting for her to sit first, like a proper gentleman; she took a place on the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room, and he sat a decorous distance from her.

"Well…er, my nephews…they're young. They think some things can be mended…if you lose one lady that all you need is another. It doesn't work like that."

"And have you lost someone, sir?" His voice had recovered a bit and was so like _his_…it was opening wounds she hoped she'd bandaged so long ago, and so tightly that she would never have to deal with them again.

"Yes."

After a long silence which Edith suspected he did not want to break, he clarified.

"Yes, I was to marry her…but…" he bowed his head to his left hand and whispered so quietly Edith almost didn't hear it, "…oh, my sweet one."

Edith heard herself gasp, as did the gentleman. His brow creased.

"Madam, forgive me, but you are not at all what I imagined a lady in this profession would be like."

"Is this your first time, sir?" Edith prayed that it was, for many reasons.

"Good god, yes." Then he realised what he had said, looked up at her for the first time, still swathed in her veil, and added "no disrespect to yourself, of course. It's just that…"

"I quite understand, sir."

"Do you? Thank you."

"May I take your cloak, sir?"

Edith stood and took the garment from him, seeing, as she knew she would, that the man wore his right arm in a sling. It _was_ him.

Anthony saw the girl looking at his arm, and sighed.

"I'm sorry about this. Well, no, don't worry, it won't get in the way, because I really don't feel I can…it's no reflection on you, madam…I just…I just can't…in fact I should leave…"

He stood, but Edith put out a hand to his ruined arm.

"Please don't, sir. Perhaps it might help to talk?"

He dithered, then sat once more. He seemed to be sobering up by the second.

"What was her name?"

That simple question opened the floodgates for Anthony.

"Edith. She was the daughter of a neighbour of mine in the country. We had had a sort of friendship before the War, but it fizzled out. Her sister told me she'd become bored of me, but…well, anyway, after the War when I came home with this wretched thing in its sling, I avoided her for a year, refusing invitations to shoots or dinners. The inevitable happened when her grandmother invited us both to tea. She pursued me then, as if…as if she were still fond of me. I couldn't believe it, of course…"

"Why not?"

"Because I was old enough to be her father. And I was a cripple. _Am_ a cripple. My life was over. There were many reasons for her to want to be married: she was young, even more beautiful than I remembered her from before, vibrant, and just wonderful! She probably wanted to be a mother, and there was the fact that both her sisters were married. Most likely she wanted to be married too and not left behind, though that seems ridiculous to me because she would've been snapped up soon enough. God knows why she decided on _me_. She could've had her pick of the young men."

"Forgive me, sir, but perhaps she really did love _you_."

"I can't believe that. I didn't deserve her. I would have held her back, and though I would've done anything not to, I would have ruined her life. She needed to have a grand love with a fit young man who could give her the life to which she was entitled. I did the right thing."

"What did you do?"

"At first I was weak. She was so determined, and I was so in love I couldn't resist. Before I knew how idiotic I'd been, I'd proposed to her. For one magnificent, exhilarating moment, I was happy. She kissed me." Anthony broke down, his voice cracked, the tears flowing unheeded, before he controlled himself again.

"She was so happy. But I knew it couldn't last. She would grow bored of the pedestrian life I lead, when what she needed was adventure. She would grow disgusted at my old, broken body, when what she deserved was youth and vigour. I couldn't bear thinking about what I was doing, condemning her. Her family were firmly against it. Her father had even warned me away before we became engaged, but she, wonderful girl, persuaded him to change his orders. But she didn't change his mind. He told me..."

"What did he tell you?" Edith asked, frightened.

"The night before the wedding, I asked him for his blessing. He refused."

"_No!_"

"I'm afraid so. Earlier that day, her grandmother had also cast doubt on my ability to…"

"_What!_" Edith's vehemence startled him.

"It was a perfectly understandable concern."

Edith was seething at her family's treatment of him, but remained silent, desperate to hear the rest of the story from Anthony's point of view.

"She repeated her doubts in the strongest terms to the vicar in the church before the ceremony, as we were taking our seats. And that decided it for me. God forgive me, I left her at the altar. I stopped the ceremony as quickly as I could, wished her well and happy, and I walked away. Her grandmother…"

"You don't need to tell me. Her grandmother encouraged you to go, and held her back from going after you. Am I right?"

"Yes." Edith could hear him weeping again. "I broke her heart. Because I was weak and because I could only see how cruel I was being after her family pointed it out to me so bluntly."

"Have you seen her since?"

"Once or twice." His words hit Edith in the chest. "Never to talk to; I made sure she didn't see me so I didn't upset her. I've seen her in the distance, here in Town, or in the village, or on the train station. I've watched her, longing to ask her forgiveness, as she walks away smiling. I believe she is happy now. There's a young man, I was told a while ago. I keep looking at the papers for their announcement. I think it might kill me when I see it."

"And if you could talk to her right here and now, what would you say to her?"

"I would beg her forgiveness. I would ask if she was happy. I would make sure she never knew how unrelentingly unhappy my life is without her."

They were quiet for a while. Edith made up her mind. She moved slowly over to where Anthony was sitting and softly put her hand on his shoulder.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like a little relief, sir?" Anthony vaguely shook his head.

"At least let me rub your back to ease the knotted muscles?" Edith rubbed his broad back through his tailcoat. He seemed to debate within himself, and begrudgingly nodded.

Edith knelt on the bed behind him and began to massage his shoulders gently. She'd always loved the broadness of them. She'd longed to do what she was doing now on so many occasions during the time they'd had together, but he'd never allow it. At the time, she wondered if he really did feel the same for her as she felt for him; perhaps he was just humouring her. Now she knew what had been holding him back, and the tears stung her eyes.

He sighed.

"Is this alright, sir? I'm not hurting you? Your arm?"

"No, it's not that. It's just…never mind. You are good at this. It's very relaxing."

"What were you going to say?"

"Edith sometimes offered this." She was surprised that he remembered, that this had reminded him as it had her.

"Was she good at it too?"

Edith felt Anthony suddenly tensing again under her fingers.

"I never let her. I didn't think I could resist her if I said 'yes'. I longed for her so intensely." He sobbed once more. "I loved her so. Oh God, I love her now. I'll always love her." Edith hugged him instinctively. Immediately Anthony stood.

"I'm so sorry, madam. I have wasted your time. I cannot bear to be touched by another woman and I have lost her, so I must resign myself to what must be. Forgive me."

He reached for his cloak and hat hanging on the hook on the door.

"Please don't go, Anthony." He froze and stared at her.

"How did you know my name?"

It seemed simplest just to draw the veil from her head and let him see for himself. As she turned up the nearest lamp, she heard his breath catch.

"_Edith?!_"

She saw the shock on his face, and looked at his eyes now that she could. They were still as bright blue as she remembered, but clouded with confusion now, with a hint of dark shadows underneath telling of sleepless nights, long agonizing days, and too many tears.

"How did you know I'd be here tonight?" he asked.

_God bless the man, he thinks I came here for him, not that I actually work here._

"I didn't, Anthony. As of tonight, I am one of Madam LeCoq's…ladies." She let that sink in, while she looked at his long legs, not daring to glance at his eyes. Would he abandon her, like so many others had done? Would he just take his cloak and leave? Would she have to watch him walking away from her once again? She knew that if she had to do that, it would be the last thing she'd ever do.

Walking away was the very last thing on Anthony's mind.

He took her hand delicately in his good one, as if she might break, and led her back to the bed to sit down. Taking a deep breath he asked "Tell me, please…if you can bear to tell me of all people…what happened?"

She was so relieved he wasn't leaving that that was exactly what she did, right up to the moment when he'd stepped through her door.

"You have nowhere else to go?"

"No."

"And I was the first…?"

"Yes, I assure you."

"Thank God for that. You must have been very disappointed to see me here" he stated baldly.

"That was why I asked if it was your first time. I couldn't believe that you were the sort of man to frequent these kinds of establishments."

"I'm sorry I blurted out about us…"

"Anthony, I needed to hear what happened, what my family did to you, what you thought you were accomplishing. I wanted to know why you did what you did, because I've never truly understood. Thank you for telling me."

"I've not discussed it with anyone else, I promise, and I wouldn't have tonight except for all that brandy and your encouragement."

"You don't need to justify your discretion to me, Anthony. You're the most thoughtful man I ever met. It's one of the things I loved most about you."

Anthony crumbled.

"Did you love me, truly? Or was I just an easy catch?"

"I understand why you thought I might not love you, but I promise you I did. You were my first love, the first real man to take an interest in me, to take me seriously; the only man to take an interest in me for myself. You were always so kind to me, so considerate. I loved you before the War, despite whatever Mary said to spite me, and I prayed throughout those years that you would come home safely when I found out you'd volunteered. Afterwards, I was so desperate to marry you, to convince you to take me despite your worries, before you changed your mind, that I know I rushed you into a wedding before you'd…we'd settled into being a couple, before we'd told each other all our fears and hopes. I'm sorry, it was my fault you were put in that situation."

"Of course it wasn't your fault. You just deserve so much more than…"

"Anthony Strallan, please don't tell me again what I deserve when I have fallen so far into the gutter."

They regarded each other for a few moments.

"I'm just glad that we met by chance this evening, before the rest of my life is spent doing…_this_. It will help me close a wound and regret it a little less" she said.

"Do you really regret my not marrying you?" Anthony breathed.

"With all my heart and forever. You've always deserved me, Anthony. But now, I cannot deserve even so much as your pity, so perhaps it is best if you leave. God bless you, Anthony, and give you some peace."

Madam LeCoq knocked at the door.

"Sir, your time is over."

Edith couldn't bear the thought of seeing him leave. She knew it would haunt her, so she turned her back to him.

"Would you like to stay a little longer?" asked Madam LeCoq, hoping to get some more money out of the customer.

"Yes. Thank you madam." Anthony's voice was more confident than Edith had ever heard it. He took a note out of his pocket book and opened the door to pass it over. They were left alone again.

Anthony came closer to Edith, without touching her.

"That day in the church, I made a decision for us both that I did not share with you. For that I apologise. I have learned my lesson. I would like to offer to help you. You can refuse it without fear of offending me. But please, if you can accept it, would you allow me to take you back to my house tonight, and give you a bed to sleep in? And tomorrow we can talk about…details and the future."

"You mean, you would like me to become your mistress?" Edith couldn't think this was possible; why would Anthony want her now? But she couldn't think it would be anything else.

"No. I want to support you to become self-sufficient again. You wrote brilliantly, you know; I read every article. Perhaps you would like to pursue that? Or I could just provide you with an income and the use of my townhouse until you decide upon a course of action? If you wanted solitude I would return to Locksley. I cannot bear to see you here, earning your subsistence like this."

"No strings attached?"

"None."

And she knew he spoke the truth. It made her love him all the more.

"I accept your offer, Sir Anthony, but only on one condition."

"Anything."

"That sooner rather than later, we consider marriage again."

She saw how affected he was, his breathing caught, his eyes alight.

"I…I do not want you to think that I am trying to blackmail you into wedlock. I am not going to take advantage of your misfortunes and position" he said.

"I know that, Anthony. But I don't believe in coincidences. You were brought here tonight for a reason, as was I. Can we at least try to heal the past?"

"It would make me the happiest man alive if we could."

Edith trailed her eyes down to his lips and leaned towards him. Anthony reciprocated, a man in a trance, utterly beneath her spell.

Their kiss was gentle, chaste, sweet, and loving.

"I thought I'd fallen as far in love with you as I could, Sir Anthony Strallan. I was wrong."

"Oh, my love..." He pulled himself together again. "Do you have any possessions to gather up?"

"Some clothes and oddments."

"For your sake, it might be best if I return my nephews to my sister's home and then return to fetch you. I don't want them thinking of you in the future as a woman I brought home from a brothel. I _will_ return, I promise. I will speak with Madam LeCoq before I go. You pack, and I'll be back before you've had time to miss me."

With another kiss, or two, he smiled and left looking twenty years younger than when he had arrived.

* * *

.

Edith packed her two cases that she had only unpacked the day before. She wavered between breathless excitement and relief, and a cold fear that Anthony may have second thoughts in the cold of night, until Mother came up to her room.

"Well!" she said, all business-like as usual, turning up the lamps a bit further. "I've never heard the like. You knew that gentleman?"

"Yes, I was engaged to be married to him, a long time ago."

"What are the chances, eh? And now he wants you back?"

"I believe he does."

"My girl, there isn't a man in ten thousand who actually wants a woman for anything more than her body, you know that? Even if he is a lord."

"He's a baronet, otherwise I am sure what you say is true. And Sir Anthony is that one in ten thousand. More to the point, I love him."

Mother sighed. "Well, dearie, if the worst happens you can always come back here."

"Thank you, Mother" said Edith, and meant it.

* * *

.

Anthony gave Madam LeCoq more money when he returned, much to her pleasure. He wanted her to be on his side, and to keep her tongue from wagging. Then he ushered Edith into the taxi. Once they were on their way, he turned to her.

"Are you alright?"

"More than alright, Anthony. You are my knight in shining armour. Tonight you have rescued me from a fate worse than death. Up until yesterday I was starving on the streets."

He gave a few rueful laughs. "If it hadn't been for me jilting you in the first place…"

"No, Anthony. I will not allow you to dilute the generosity of your actions tonight with something that happened years ago, which you only did for the best motives anyway. We've been given a second chance. Let's make the most of it, please?"

He nodded solemnly, as she snuggled up to him and drew his good arm around her.

"Will you allow me to show my gratitude? Will you, finally, accept that I love you?"

He swallowed audibly.

"There is nothing in the world I would like more. I'm just so glad I found you when I did, that you're safe."

"I'm safe only because of you."

* * *

.

Edith was almost asleep when they arrived. The butler took Edith's cases upstairs with the maids who would make up her room, while she waited downstairs with Anthony. He asked if she was hungry, and saw her holding back, but he wasn't going to let her get away with that. When he'd held her in the taxi he had felt how much weight she had lost.

"You can have anything you like, as long as we have it, my sweet. This is your home now. Perhaps a cup of tea and a teacake; something light?" he assured her, taking her hand again.

"You're so kind" she whispered. He instructed the butler when he returned, and led her into the library.

"It...it doesn't exactly _look_ like the library at Locksley, but it _feels_ the same."

"I suppose it does, yes."

It was then he realised she was weeping. He knelt near her seat, his hand protectively on her arm.

"Oh my darling, what's wrong? Have I done something to upset you? Tell me, what is it?"

"It's…it's just all so amazing…I am home, aren't I? Or am I imposing on you too much?"

Anthony offered her his handkerchief and rubbed her back soothingly.

"We are a couple, aren't we? Each of us always believing we are exploiting the other?" He raised her face to look at him.

"I meant what I said. I love you, Edith. I've always loved you. I'm not even beginning to understand yet the happiness that meeting you tonight has brought me. If I can be of service to you, I want that. If you need someone to help you out of this hole, I want to be the one to do it. No strings, remember?"

"But I want strings, Anthony! I love you too. Michael…he was almost what I needed after you left, but when it came down to it another woman had a prior claim to him and he honoured that. I should allow him that much. But you, Anthony, you were always mine, just as I was always yours."

He took her by surprise by reaching up and kissing her then, a deep, passionate kiss full of worship and desire and reassurance. It was just what she needed: tangible evidence that all this was true.

"Then tomorrow, we will do what you asked. We will discuss marriage. Your family told you never to use the name Crawley again, and I'm going to make sure that you never need to, because you will have mine, if you want it."

She smiled up at him through her tears, and he kissed her again, confidently and full of happiness.


	3. Fancy

**_For Her Majesty QueenLovett. I hope this is smutty enough for you (which it probably isn't...sorry).  
_**

**_This takes place in the present day._**

* * *

.

It was Sybil's idea really. Edith wouldn't have had the confidence to do it without her encouragement. Sybil had taken such pains to get all the bits together for her. Now that she had to go through with it, Edith found she was more than nervous: she was terrified. What would Anthony think? Would it make him think less of her? Would it frighten him away? She kept trying to back out but Sybil wouldn't hear a word of it.

* * *

.

Anthony had been visiting a lot more recently. Admittedly, Edith had been asking him to come over to Downton for dinner more often too, but the fact remained that he accepted all those invitations. She hadn't forced him to. He talked with her and laughed and they had a lovely, easygoing friendship...and perhaps more. She wished...she hoped...perhaps he was fond of her...but she didn't really think it was going to happen...not after her last attempt at romance.

As for Anthony, he was not the sort of man to read more into these things than they warranted. He was an old friend of Robert's. He'd been invited over to Downton as part of the wider county set to Mary and Matthew's Engagement Party. His and Robert's old friendship would have gone back to being moribund after that had it not been for the chance meeting with Mary's sister, Edith.

Anthony disliked large parties. That was why he had found himself in the library getting away from the crowds milling about on the lawn in the bright spring sunshine. He was finishing his glass of Champagne when the door flew open. Edith rushed in, slammed it shut again, threw herself onto the Ottoman and cried, her heart breaking. Anthony felt awkward, as though _he_ had intruded on this poor girl's solitude rather than the other way around. He was edging towards the door as silently as he could, but old houses have squeaky floorboards. She looked up, surprised, but also hopeful. However Anthony was not the person she was looking for.

"I'm so sorry" Anthony blurted, "I…um…I was in here but you didn't see me. Is there...is there anything I can do?"

"You can give me another life, or just shoot me. Either will do."

Anthony considered this. "I'll go with the new life option, if you don't mind. I disagree with murder on principle. What sort of new life did you have in mind?" He wanted to soothe this girl's pain if he could. He hated seeing anyone in such distress.

"Something a long way away from here...or London...or Britain in general and the aristocracy in particular."

"Well, if you'll accompany me to my TARDIS, I'll see what I can do..." Anthony risked a small smile.

Edith actually laughed.

"That's very kind of you. Thank you."

Anthony sat down. "Seriously, what new life would you wish for yourself if you could?"

Through the tears, Edith mentioned something about writing and/or publishing which had always been her dream. Anthony mentioned his friend, Nigel Newton of the Bloomsbury publishing house whom he knew through the British Library. Edith stared at him in disbelief, stuttering thanks. Then she began to tell of how Michael, her **_boyfiend_ **- her word - had just left her – on the day of Mary's engagement party just to make it more painful – only now feeling it necessary to inform her, in the middle of a very public row, that he was _married_. Her grandmother and father had heard...and they had blamed her! Her life was shredded in five minutes flat. And that was why she came to be sobbing in the library. They stayed in the library for the rest of the party, chatting, as Edith began to put herself back together, and Anthony began falling in love.

In the next couple of days, Anthony was as good as his word. He spoke to Nigel, Edith was interviewed, and was living and working in London within a fortnight. Because this was all his doing, Anthony felt obliged to contact Edith on a regular basis to check that it really was what she wanted, the 'other life' she'd described.

Edith was so grateful to him for making her dream job come true and for being there when she so needed someone sympathetic to talk to, that she insisted on taking Anthony out, or inviting him over to Downton for dinner, whenever he checked on her.

And so their friendship grew, and broadened, and deepened.

A week before Matthew and Mary's wedding, the girls' American grandmother had arranged a Fancy Dress Ball to launch the celebrations which would go on all week up until the wedding itself and on to the day after for those still hanging around. Martha had given Robert and Cora a lot of money when they married to rescue the Grantham family pile from dry rot and general neglect. Now she had no qualms about spending his money to see her eldest granddaughter married well.

* * *

.

So that's how, at Sybil's encouragement and bullying, Edith found herself getting ready to meet Sir Anthony Strallan, the man she loved, dressed like a nineteenth-century Parisian tart: corset, stockings, heels, garter, feather boa, long-sleeve gloves, hair piled on her head and held in place with even more feathers as a fascinator. There were also a lot of pointless ribbons and lace. The Works.

"He is going to fall down and worship at your feet!" said Sybil, who had chosen a slightly more demure costume, though not by much. She was going to entertain her Irish admirer as Molly Malone.

"He's much more likely to take one look and run a mile" said Edith.

"Well, it's too late now, and if Anthony doesn't take the bait, I'm sure someone will. Have fun, Edith!"

* * *

.

It didn't surprise Edith that Mary had chosen something stunning and yet boring: Queen Victoria c. 1840: young enough to be beautiful, and yet so very proper. Poor Matthew looked thoroughly bored and embarrassed as Prince Albert, wearing a false moustache that tickled.

Sybil was right though; Edith did find herself on the receiving end of several _very_ interested looks. Even Larry Grey, dressed as James Bond, gave an appreciative "well, hello" before he realised who it was. As far as Larry was concerned, fancying Edith was like fancying your maiden aunt.

Edith couldn't believe that she had let her wild younger sister talk her into this. She looked all around the Great Hall looking for one specific tall, blonde man. Thankfully she couldn't see him. She needed a drink to take the edge off whatever was going to happen tonight. The bar had been set up along one of the side corridors and Edith ordered a double Southern Comfort...and then another.

* * *

.

Anthony ignored the shake of the head the taxi driver gave as soon as he began to drive away. The choice (on his sister's explicit advice) of costume was ridiculously old-fashioned. As he entered the building and walked to the Great Hall he saw guests dressed as superheroes and other characters from recent films and television. There was even a group of laughing twenty-something's in the guise of characters from a soap opera set in a stately home during the early part of the twentieth century; lords, ladies, and servants. How silly! But it was positively up to the minute compared with what _he_ was wearing.

"Anthony!" exclaimed Martha. Like most grandmothers, she had a sixth sense for romance among her little ones and she heartily approved of Edith's choice.

"Mrs Levinson. You look amazing. To me your costume looks like a Fairy Godmother, but it can't be because you are that all the time."

"Sir Anthony! You are a flatterer, but you've got it in one. I always loved Disney. Look at you! But forgive a stupid American; I didn't think Lord Nelson was a tall man. He certainly doesn't look it in Trafalgar Square."

"I would never call anyone 'stupid' based just on their nationality." He smiled, but the look faded as he looked at the white linen breeches and waistcoat, and dark blue naval uniform and sword. "And you are quite right about Nelson. This was all my sister's doing. I should never have trusted her." His voice trailed off as though he were really talking to himself.

"Well, _I_ think you look incredibly dashing, and I am sure anyone with taste will do too."

She greeted the next guest, leaving Anthony to contemplate what he considered her misplaced kindness. If he was going to get through this evening, he was going to need a drink. He left the brightness of the Great Hall, lit with extra lights for the disco later, for the welcome gloom of the bar.

Anthony stopped dead. Seated on one of the bar stools, nursing something strong, was Edith. But an Edith he had never met before…except in some rather lurid dreams he'd been having lately. God, she looked magnificent! Dressed like that, she could conquer the world, and certainly have any young man here she wanted. She was stunning! She definitely wouldn't want to spend time with some fuddy-duddy friend of her father's dressed as some long-dead admiral. This was not the Edith who was sweet and grateful to the chap who made the right connections for her to get a job and some sort of career. This was the Edith who had youthful vigour, and a young, wild sense of fun, claiming her deserved right as the bright, young thing she was to enjoy herself...with men her own age.

Despite the regret, the longing, and the loneliness, Anthony couldn't stop looking at her. Finally wondering why he was torturing himself like this, he turned to go. The movement caught Edith's eye.

"Anthony! You came!"

No! Why had she called out like that to him? He was bound to see how shamelessly silly her costume was now. She was distracted from such thoughts by the sight of him. He was so handsome. The uniform showed off how trim and lean he was, and made him look truly heroic. He could be Horatio Hornblower, or Jack Aubrey.

To keep the conversation away from her own clothes she asked "Patrick O'Brian, or C. S. Forester?"

Anthony was well-read enough that it was only a moment before he realised what she was on about. Maybe Amy had known what she was doing after all.

"Whichever you would prefer. The uniform's the same" he answered.

"And I suppose you'd like rum to drink?" Edith had relaxed enough now to tease him.

"Actually a rum cocktail would go down really well." He caught the barman's eye and ordered a Cable Car. At the first sip of spiced rum and Curaçao, he felt strong enough to look at Edith's costume again, sensed her uneasiness, and instead turned his attention to her drink.

"Southern Comfort?"

"Yes."

"You drank it last time you drowned your sorrows in London."

"You have a good memory, I'll give you that."

Actually, he didn't have a particularly good memory except where Edith Crawley was concerned. He couldn't help it. He remembered every moment he'd spent in her company, every word she'd said to him.

"Have you ever tried a Sicilian Kiss?"

"That sounds as though you're propositioning me!"

Anthony blushed if for no other reason than, well, he probably was in a roundabout way.

"It's Southern Comfort, Amaretto, and a dash of lemonade. Try it. This is a party, after all. The general idea is to have fun, or so I believe."

Edith did try the cocktail and agreed that it was very good. They were now both relaxed enough to attempt a dance, but Anthony's sword had not been designed for this. He had to stop in order to take it off, but the buckle caught in the fall-front of his breeches, Edith tried to help, and the two of them got the giggles. Until Larry Grey walked past.

"When you're dressed like _that_, Edith, what are you doing with a man with a…_ha_, broken sword? There are lots of young chaps here tonight with fully working ones."

Edith gasped at the abusive insinuation. Larry was just spoiling for a fight, she thought. He'd never been interested in her before, so it couldn't be that. She looked around and saw Sybil with her boyfriend casting looks over at Larry. Edith thought perhaps he'd tried a pass at Sybil only to come face to face with Tom Branson, Irish, rugby player physique, and not someone to trifle with. So now Larry just wanted to boost his own ego by taking pot-shots at someone else…anyone else, and Anthony was unfortunately the first one in the way.

She was about to give vent to her anger and send Larry off with a flea in his ear, when she heard a 'swoosh' beside her as Anthony unsheathed his sword, and then skilfully sliced one half of Larry's Bond black bow tie with professional finesse.

Larry, stunned, but still not quite finished, shouted "Hey, I've a good mind to…", before Anthony calmly sliced the other half and then took the buttons off of Larry's jacket for good measure.

"I'm sorry, young man, I can't see what the problem is. My sword seems to be quite keenly sharp and it's faster than yours."

Larry's friends could see that he was out of his depth and pulled him away from the armed older, taller man with a very dangerous glint in his eye, before he pushed him too far.

Edith was left gaping at Anthony.

"That…that was amazing!"

"I fenced for my college." He seemed to think that was enough explanation.

"And the sword?"

"Oh, the costume didn't come with one, so I brought my grandfather's. He was in the navy. It was only ever ceremonial, but it's a beautifully made sword all the same."

"I have never seen anything like it."

"They are fairly common, you know."

"I meant how you _used_ it." Edith was still utterly in thrall to his dexterity and panache. "You are _amazing!_"

Anthony blushed a bit. He'd had a single cocktail and was not at all drunk, but it had been enough to give him that bit of confidence with the silly young man. He didn't expect his bit of theatre to have this much effect upon Edith. She looked up at him with hero-worship in her eyes.

_Well, this is a party_ he told himself, _you are meant to have fun._ He sheathed the sword, placed it somewhere safe, caught hold of Edith in a formal dance hold and whirled her around the floor.

Between dances and cocktails, they _did_ enjoy themselves for a couple of hours. They caught up on each other's news, and when Edith told Anthony what she had spent her first pay cheque on to celebrate her new status as a publisher's assistant, it was his turn to look amazed.

"You didn't?!"

"I did!" she grinned, hardly containing her excitement. "Would you like to see it?"

"Would I?! I'd love to. You know I was at that auction! I wondered who'd got it." Anthony followed Edith up the stairs.

"I couldn't be there in person because of work, so I sent an agent."

They were now just outside a room on the first floor. Edith took out a key, unlocked the door and let them both in, before turning on the lights and locking it again.

Anthony realised, too late, that he was in Edith's bedroom.

"Do you always keep your room locked?" he asked, for want of anything else to say while she fiddled with a bureau.

"During parties like this when anyone could be here, yes. Especially when I have this here."

She drew out an archive box, which opened to reveal a protective slip-case containing a single small book.

Anthony stood still with his mouth open looking at it.

"It…it…" but he didn't have the words.

"Why don't you hold it?"

The look on Anthony's face was gratitude enough. He opened it.

A first edition of Fitzgerald's translation of _The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam_. In a voice somewhere between awe and disbelief he read aloud.

"_Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,  
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse—and Thou  
Beside me singing in the Wilderness—  
And Wilderness is Paradise enow._"

Anthony looked at Edith, the words filling him with such a wealth of love.

"It's astounding. Wherever did you find it?" he breathed.

"Maggs the booksellers in Berkeley Square. They've been looking out for a copy for me and told me about the auction."

"This must have cost you more than a month's wages, surely?"

"Oh, much more!" She took the book from his hands.

"_Ah, fill the Cup:—what boots it to repeat  
How time is slipping underneath our Feet:  
Unborn TO-MORROW and dead YESTERDAY,  
Why fret about them if TODAY be sweet!_"

"Carpe diem, in other words" said Anthony. "You certainly know how to do that, my sweet, buying books like this and loving them."

She smiled at him, wishing he could know what she was thinking without her having to speak it aloud.

"Today has been so sweet, Anthony, and that is all because of you. I was so embarrassed at this costume Sybil put together for me. It's…it's so adolescent!"

"Let me tell you a secret, young lady: in every man, whatever his age, there is a seventeen-year-old lurking just itching to get out, whether he be excited by powerful cars, or telling other people what to do, or bullying them like that twerp downstairs…or by repressed desires of an incredibly beautiful woman dressed to seduce him. You look _ravishing_. You _are_ ravishing, and it's a crying scandal that you aren't up here with a nice young buck telling you these things rather than boring, old me."

Edith put the book back in its cover and box, then turned to him with a nervous but determined look.

"I'm glad it's you who's here, Anthony. I…I don't think I could trust anyone young again. Just like Larry, Michael was all too typical of them: self-centred and arrogant. I prefer your company. You are _not_ old, and you are _not_ boring. You…I'd be lying if I didn't say you excite me, and yet you also make me feel safe. Does that make sense? I...I rather fancy you."

She looked up into his conflicted eyes and saw the same feelings there that she had herself. It gave her enough belief to reach up to his shoulders with her hands and kiss his lips, oh so gently.

Some part of Anthony screamed at him that this was the classic rebound. She had been really hurt: he had helped her and she had transferred her wounded feelings onto a safe, older man. It wasn't real. He shouldn't…but then she looked so hurt that he hadn't responded to her affection and that was it: he lost it.

He took her in his arms and kissed her with all his strength, glorying in her reciprocation. It felt _so good_ and _so right_. Her mouth was sweet and his passion was all of a sudden uncontrollable. When he moved down her neck, she whimpered with pleasure forcing him up a gear. Her arms were around his body pulling them closer and he complied willingly.

Edith was so blissfully happy. He _did_ want her! She had felt so sure that he wouldn't see her in this light, or that he would feel that it wouldn't be 'proper' for them to be more than friends. But the way he kissed! It was all-embracing and delicious. She moved her hands to his shoulders, allowing one to thread his soft, blonde curls. Kissing him was the best, most wonderful experience in her life. It seemed to last for ages, each of them caressing the other's cheeks, neck, temples, jawline, before returning to lips and tongues.

Daringly, Edith undid the top button of Anthony's waistcoat. Instantly, he caught her hand and was still.

"Are you sure?"

"Totally. Absolutely" she answered a touch too desperately for Anthony's liking.

"I know I haven't exactly behaved in the most gentlemanly fashion, but it's one thing to accept a girl's kisses when she's on the rebound. It's quite another to…to seduce her completely."

"You haven't seduced me, Anthony. I want this."

"That's…extremely flattering, my dear, and I thank you. But will you regret it? You've only just escaped from a damaging relationship. I'm afraid I would be taking advantage of your vulnerability." The sadness in his eyes was unmistakeable behind the concern for her welfare, and both of them made her love him more.

"I want you, Anthony. There will be no regrets as long as you don't use it to force a wedge between us." He couldn't deny there was a desire burning in her eyes as she sashayed to him once more and undid the rest of his waistcoat. He was losing the capacity for rational thought, he knew, so when she put her hands under his shirt to stroke his bare chest, he stopped her hands and tried again.

"Edith, I don't want to get you into trouble. I'm not prepared…"

"I'm still on the pill. There won't be any consequences." She had managed to slip the blue uniform and waistcoat from him, and was about to lift his shirt over his head.

"If you want me to stop…say so."

"I won't." To prove it she kissed him again. He wrapped his naked arms around her and really began to make love to her. He kissed her neck all the way down to her collar bone, and beyond, skimming the tops of her breasts with his fingertips, requesting permission before he reached down to worship them with his mouth.

"Do you want me to take the corset off, or leave it on?" she asked having more confidence with each kiss.

"What a choice! You're going to kill me either way!"

"Then I would prefer to take it off. I want to feel you." He groaned at her words, running his hands down the length of the garment, possessing her curves as he did so. Edith stepped back away from him and raised one foot up to the bed, unfastened the stocking and rolled it down her leg. Anthony watched spellbound. When she raised the other leg to do the same, he had to close his eyes for a moment to compose himself.

"Would you mind helping with the laces, my love?"

"Oh god!" With trembling hands, Anthony unknotted the ribbons just at the top of her derrière, loosening the stiff fabric. Edith turned and let it slip to the ground, baring herself before him. As far as he was concerned, Anthony thought he had died and was already in heaven. He knelt in front of her to kiss her rosebuds, even as she looped one leg around his shoulders, begging him for more. When he took her hips firmly in his palms and obliged, Edith's legs gave way along with her sanity. Anthony caught her and placed her gently on the bed behind her.

"Edith?"

"Oh my, that was…"

"You know how to make a man feel wanted" he rasped.

She reached up for the flap of his breeches.

"I can do even better than that" she said.

Edith's experience wasn't extensive, but Anthony certainly was the most magnificent example of male beauty she'd ever seen. Gently she stroked him with one finger from tip to base, causing Anthony to wail in delight and his sword, which was most certainly _not_ broken, to react to her touch. She licked him, once, twice, teasingly before Anthony could stand it no longer and almost threw himself onto the bed half beside her, half over her.

"Why?" he demanded between kisses, "why would you want this from me? I'm old enough to be your father."

"Because you are caring, and handsome, and clever, and funny, and…god, you're good at this!"

He claimed his position over her and gazed into her eyes.

"If you want me to stop…" Edith lost patience.

"Please Anthony, I love you!"

Everything stopped.

Edith knew she should not have said the 'L' word. It made her sound like a needy teenager. But it was the truth. Her panting slowing, she repeated "I love you."

Silence.

"I…I'm not going to insult you by asking if you really mean that. You're old enough to know what love is. But perhaps you can understand that I find it difficult to believe? You've been through a lot recently; your emotions may have impaired your judgement."

"That's a reasonable thing to say, but I assure you I know my feelings. This has felt right since I met you in the library."

"It feels frightening right, and has done since that day, I agree."

She reached up to kiss him, softly. He kissed her back. It grew heated once more, much faster than he expected it to. He was still very hard, harder than he had ever been in his life before, aching for this lovely girl. Reaching down, he felt to check whether she was ready, or whether all this was bravado. She was so warm, so wet, and so welcoming. He pressed more kisses to her, and reverently made her his. He tried to make it last, for both their sakes, trying one or two different positions to help her find her pleasure. It had been so long since a woman had let him be with her. And he didn't believe any woman had ever _loved_ him the way Edith was doing right now. It was all too much. He let go of the last threads of his control.

"Oh Edith…oh god…I love you too…so very, very much…I've loved you for months now…god help me, I've dreamt of this."

"I've loved you ever since you made that joke about the TARDIS: a stranger who cared enough to try to make me laugh."

"I've loved you since you laughed at that silly joke, so brave even when your heart was breaking."

Higher and higher they flew, whispering endearments and declarations until Anthony could hold himself no longer and they fell apart together.

Many minutes of hushed words of love later Anthony began to think.

"Edith?"

"My darling."

"What now?"

"I hope you will stay the night. There's something more happening tomorrow that Grandmama has organised."

"Well, alright, if that's what you want. But I actually meant, between us?" His voice seemed so small, it caused a pang in her chest.

"I mean, will you want to see me again?" he asked. "I'll understand if you don't."

"Anthony, I meant what I said. I love you. I rather hope you'll ask me to be your girlfriend."

"Really?" His happy disbelief spread across his face in a broad smile.

"If you want me."

"Of course I want you, my darling girl. You are my treasure, my goddess, my life." He covered her in kisses.

Edith felt something stir near her thigh.

"Are you up for a bit more fencing, my swordsman?"


End file.
